Prisoner
by MyImmortal329
Summary: With a crumbling marriage and a flourishing career in front of her, Carol Peletier takes on the case of a lifetime when she agrees to defend an accused murderer.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Prisoner

The first thing he noticed the second he opened his eyes was that the back of his head hurt like a motherfucker. The throbbing pain coupled with the sick feeling in his gut reminded him that he'd had one hell of a night. And it wasn't the kind of night that ended with your head hanging over the toilet. It was the kind of night that ended in the back of a police cruiser with handcuffs. He remembered going to the bar. He remembered leaving to walk home. And he remembered being read his rights and getting knocked pretty hard on the back of the head. Aside from that, the rest of the night was shrouded in mystery.

Groaning, he lifted his head up from the table, blinking and squinting into the painful florescent light that surrounded him. His vision was blurred for a moment, until the glint of light on a sheriff's badge caught his attention.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Dixon," came the slow, cocky drawl of Deputy Shane Walsh of the King County Sheriff's department. "You remember why you're in here?"

"In the drunk tank, I expect," he muttered. "Ya'll know I ain't like my damned brother. I had a bad night, went out for a few drinks. Got outta hand, is all. Didn't have to fuckin' knock me out." Deputy Walsh cleared his throat and tapped his fingertips against the table he sat at across from Daryl. "The hell you got me in here for?" He looked around to see an officer standing next to a big, steel door. In all corners of the room were cameras, and Daryl noted the big mirror on one wall. He'd seen enough crime show dramas in his life to know that was a two-way mirror.

"What do you remember, exactly, Daryl?" Shane asked, narrowing his eyes at the other man. Daryl stared at him, feeling a stinging in his eyes and a clutch in his throat as he tried not to throw up.

"I remember I had a shitty day at work. Went out for a damned drink. I remember one of you assholes knocking me out. I think I have Sheriff Grimes to thank for that, don't I?"

"No, that was me," Shane replied, a smirk curling at his lip. "You remember anything else?" Daryl gaped at him. "You remember making it home last night?"

"No," Daryl replied.

"Yeah? Maybe that's 'cause you didn't go home." Daryl sighed heavily, clasping his hands together as the chain from his cuffs rattled against the hard plastic table. "You remember taking a little detour to Rangeline Avenue?" Daryl's face grew pale.

"Why the hell would I do somethin' like that?"

"You wanna tell me why you were found wandering down Rangeline covered in blood?" Daryl glance down to find himself wearing a pair of grey, scrub-like pants with a matching top. _Shit._

"Where's my clothes?"

"They're evidence. For now, you can hang out in these duds. You're probably gonna be wearing them for a good long while."

"What the hell happened?" Daryl groaned.

"That's what we're gonna find out," Shane replied, leaning forward, raising an eyebrow. "You should get comfortable, Daryl. You ain't going anywhere." Daryl felt his stomach tighten as he leaned forward.

"Just tell me what the hell happened," he snapped. "What happened out on Rangeline?" The heavy weight he felt in the pit of his stomach told him all he needed to know, but it wasn't until the words left Deputy Walsh's lips that he felt the white hot grip of fear creep up his spine.

"Dixon, you're being held as the prime suspect in the beating and savage murder of Will Dixon. You have the right to an attorney, but I know you can't afford one. One will be appointed to you, and I suggest, unless you got a confession to make, you best not say a word 'til she gets here."

"My father?" Daryl asked. "My father's dead?" Shane leaned forward again.

"And there's a whole host of witnesses who can testify to you threatening to kill him just, what, six months ago?"

"That ain't what that was!" Daryl insisted. "He was told to stay away, and he came lookin' to bum money. You know what he did to my mama. You think I wanted him around?"

"Daryl, you were found covered in blood, and I expect when forensics come back, that blood's gonna match up to your daddy's. I also suspect the bloody boot prints all over his front porch are gonna match up to the boots we took off your feet last night." Shane licked his dry lips. "I'm gonna make it real clear for ya, Dixon. You swallow the pill, admit what you done, and the jury might go easy on ya. We all know what kinda filth your daddy was, but it don't change nothin'. Murder's murder."

"I didn't kill him," Daryl growled.

"Thought you couldn't remember what you done last night," Shane replied, cocking his head to the side. "You might wanna wait on your attorney. She'll be here soon, and I'm sure she's got her work cut out with you." Shane gave him a little smirk before he pushed back and the metal chair legs screeched along the rough concrete floor. Daryl winced as the sound pained his ears, and Shane moved to the door. "I'll get you some coffee, finish sobering you up. Think you're gonna need a clear head to get through this." With that, Shane and the other officer left, slamming the steel door in their wake. Daryl flinched as the sound of the lock sliding into the frame grated on his every aching nerve.

...

Carol Peletier finished brushing out her auburn locks, covering the dark marks at the sides of her neck. She hadn't been able to wear her hair up for a week now, and makeup would not cover up the discoloration, no matter what she did.

Ed stepped up behind her in the mirror, leaned down and planted a kiss to her cheek, giving her a pat on the side of the face.

"Morning, darlin'," he murmured, as he leaned forward to straighten his tie. "You getting all beautiful for your boyfriend?"

"Don't," Carol bit out. "That isn't funny."

"Aw, honey, you know I'm just teasing," Ed offered, as Carol stood and turned to face him. "Trying to lighten the mood. I'm real sorry 'bout last week."

"I'm sure you are," she said coldly, as Ed brought his hands to her hips and pulled her in close. "Ed…I have to work."

"You and that goddamned job," he muttered. Carol flinched then, moving away from his grasp. "Aw, honey, I ain't mad."

"I have to go. I have to drop Sophia off at your mother's before I go. I'm already late as it is." Ed frowned, and Carol moved to finish dressing. When she sat on the edge of the bed to slip on her heels, Ed moved to stand in front of her, hands on his hips.

"You planning on leaving me again? Takin' my baby with you?"

"I don't know," she bit out, avoiding looking up at his face. Then his hand was at her chin, and he was tiling her face up to his.

"I swear to Christ, baby, I'll never hurt you like that again."

"The only reason I came back was for Sophia," she murmured. "And I'm still not sure I should have come back. But I swear to God, Ed Peletier, if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I'll—."

"Baby, don't talk like that."

"Don't baby me. I'm not the one that cheated and got caught and grabbed you by the back of the neck like an animal to stop you from leaving."

"It was…it's over. She transferred cities, and she's not coming back."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry your girlfriend's gone. Something tells me she's not the only one."

"Carol, come on, now. I love you."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's not enough anymore." With that, she got up and stalked past him, heading down the hall to the nursery, where Sophia was sitting up in her crib clinging to her teddy bear.

"Mama!" the little one cooed when Carol stepped into the room.

"Hi, sweet girl," she said softly. "Are you ready to go to grandma's?" The baby grinned, and Carol pulled her into her arms. "Mama's got to work today, hmm?" Sophia babbled as Carol carried her out into the hall and down the stairs. Ed was waiting by the front door with Sophia's car seat.

"I'll drive into work with you?" he offered.

"I really don't feel like being around you right now," she offered. "I'm willing to go to counseling, but I'm not going to forget. I will _never_ forget, do you understand me?" Ed swallowed hard, and he hung his head.

"I won't ever hurt you like that again, baby. I was drunk, and…"

"Stop," Carol spat coldly. "I don't want to hear it. I just…need to be away from you." She looked up then to meet his gaze, and she sighed heavily. "I don't know what I want anymore, Ed. Last week changed things. You aren't the man I married. I don't know who you are." With that, she grabbed her purse and her keys and headed out the door. The last thing she saw before she pulled out of the drive was Ed staring forlornly out the window by the door.

 _He's the cheater. He's the one that did this. Don't let him make you feel like the bad guy_.

She took a shaky breath and turned the radio on low before heading across town toward Ed's mother's house. And as she drove, she couldn't help but wonder if Nancy Peletier knew exactly what kind of man her son was turning into.

...

Carol's heels clicked on the asphalt as she hurried across the lot toward the big, glass doors out front. She clutched her briefcase firmly in one hand and dropped her car keys into her purse. With a heavy sigh, she mentally went over her goals for the day, though she knew that all of that would have to wait until she got back to her office. Monday mornings were always hell, because the weekends always meant she'd have a whole heap of work on her lap that couldn't wait. It never failed. At least it meant she had a paycheck.

"Morning, Andrea," Carol said with a smile to the pretty blonde behind the counter.

"Oh, good, you're here!" Officer Harrison said with a smile. Andrea was a rookie cop, and Carol respected her deeply for being able to put up with all the shit the guys put her through. She held her own and gave it back to them as good as they gave it to her, and Carol couldn't help but see a kindred spirit in the woman. They both knew what it was like to have to deal with working in a man's world. "They tell you yet?"

"Uh, no. They just told me they've got a guy for me, needs some legal counsel. Probably a DUI or something." Andrea frowned and glanced over toward the conference room doors.

"Walsh and Grimes are waiting. Don't worry. You're gonna be great." Andrea gave her an anxious thumbs up, and Carol felt her heart leap into her throat for a brief second. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, quickly hurrying toward the conference room as her heels clicked loudly on the marble floor.

Once inside, she swallowed back her anxieties and took a deep breath.

"Deputy Walsh. Sheriff Grimes." She gave them each a professional smile and a nod, and Rick Grimes motioned for her to have a seat.

"Shane? You wanna take a walk?" Rick asked. Shane looked Carol up and down from her heels to her knee-length skirt to the white blouse under her black jacket. She shivered under his gaze, and she felt uneasy under his scrutiny.

"Yeah. I'll head on down to the coroner's office, see if they've got anything yet."

"You do that," Rick said, waving him out. Shane hurried off, and Rick cleared his throat the second the door shut in Walsh's wake.

"We've got a live one of you, Carol," he said quietly. "You remember the Dixons?"

"Uh, I…we…went to school with Daryl, but I haven't seen him in…well, since senior year. Why?"

"Well, he was brought in last night covered in blood, and his daddy was found beaten to death a few hours later. Daryl needs legal counsel, and you're the best damned defense attorney in King County." Carol's mouth fell open slightly, and she felt her heart race in her chest.

"You think Dixon killed his father? And you want _me_ to defend him? Why?"

"You're the best," Rick repeated. "You know your shit, and if anybody can get him off, you can."

"Why? Why would I want to get a murderer out of jail?" Carol asked, narrowing her eyes at the Sheriff. Rick cleared his throat and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

"Because Will Dixon is a rapist and a fucking abuser, and if anybody deserves what he got, it's him. And I know what he did to his boys and why they hated him like they did. I don't care if Daryl killed him or not. I want _you_ to prove he didn't do it. And if you can't, I want you to show the world that a man can only take so much before he reaches his breaking point."

"I'm sorry, Rick," Carol murmured, clearing her throat, breaking her professional address for a moment. "I know you and Daryl were close growing up, but you can't let your personal feelings…"

"You want to talk personal? You know my wife. You know what happened to her." Carol looked down, looked away. "It was him. I know it was him. But we couldn't prove it, and she fucking killed herself because of Will Dixon."

"Rick…I…"

"Lori was your best friend. I know you'd want this for her." Carol felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and she cleared her throat, shaking her head.

"I can't take this case. I'm sorry. You have to find someone else." She stood up, and Rick stood with her.

"Just talk to him. Daryl's a good man. I know it. He was my best friend once. I know he wouldn't kill a man in cold blood." Carol swallowed hard, and she shook her head. With a sigh, she relented. Gripping her briefcase tightly in her shaking hand, she let out a slow breath.

"Did Will Dixon have any enemies?" A sigh of relief escaped Rick's lips, and he reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Thank you, Carol. Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The first thing she felt when she walked in the room was the anxious gaze peeking out from a shaggy haircut. She hadn't seen those baby blues since high school. She hadn't had much experience with Daryl Dixon, aside from some awkward flirting on both of their parts at the senior prom. She remembered very clearly that they had both gone solo that night, and Daryl had never worked up the nerve to ask her to dance. Instead, they'd talked over the punch bowl, and the more they drank, the funnier things became, and in retrospect, she was pretty sure somebody spiked that punch. But they'd rarely spoken to each other much before that or after. Still, she'd never forget the shy and anxious boy she'd met that night, the young man that seemed to hide himself within himself and flinch if someone so much as looked at him funny.

And she also knew the stories about his parents and how his mother overdosed when he was in junior high. The Dixons were usually the talk of the town and not in a good way. When Helen Dixon was found dead in her trailer with fresh bruises and choke marks around her neck, Will Dixon had been investigated for murder, though he'd been let off the hook. Even though the son of a bitch allegedly beat the living hell out of his wife, he was left to finish raising his youngest son however he saw fit, and Carol couldn't imagine how bad Daryl must have had it. That was, if the rumors were true, of course.

Still, to walk into that room on that day and to see him sitting in that chair with his hands clasped and shackled in front of him, she couldn't quite get it to fit. Daryl had been shy and a little backward, and he'd gotten into a few fights with some of the other boys, and she knew about his older brother Merle and how the two brothers were nothing alike. She'd worked with a lot of criminals, and Daryl Dixon did not strike her as remotely criminal. She'd known quite a few sociopaths, quite a few people who could put on a façade and make the world see what they wanted them to see. But Daryl looked, above all else, shell-shocked as he sat there.

"Daryl Dixon," she said softly, taking a seat in the chair across the table from him. "Do you remember me?" Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and cleared his throat.

"Carol? Carol Mason?" he asked.

"It's Peletier now," she corrected.

"You my lawyer?" he asked, shifting in his seat.

"I guess I am," she said quietly, shifting in her seat.

"Look, I ain't sure what they told you, but I didn't…I mean, I don't remember."

"Let's start with what you do remember," she said with a nod.

"What? Now?"

"Seems like as good a time as any, doesn't it?" Her gaze flashed up to meet his. Blue on blue. Daryl sat back slightly, and he cleared his throat.

"I had a bad day at work," he offered.

"What happened at work?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe not. What happened at work?" Daryl sighed heavily, and he moved to rub the palm of his hand over his face, but the shackles caught, jerking his hand back down to the table. He growled in frustration, and Carol clicked her ink pen and poised it on her pad of paper.

"We had this '67 Mustang. Customer's a regular, and he always asks for me. Well, day before yesterday, I was off work, and the dumbass workin' in my place decides he's gonna give it a try. See, that car's a classic, and it takes a gentle touch. Well, the guy fucks up, and now we gotta fork out three grand to fix what he broke. And the guy's threatenin' to sue, and my boss is on my ass, even though I didn't even touch the sumbitch." Carol's scribbled a few lines on the paper, and Daryl tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "So I went out for a fuckin' drink after work. Ain't a crime, is it?"

"Not at all," Carol replied quietly. "Anything else?" She saw him hesitate. "I need you to be completely honest with me if we're going to be working together. If you're straight with me, I'll do whatever I can to get you out of this mess."

"Merle."

"Excuse me?"

"My brother. Merle. He called. Right 'fore I left work for the day, he calls and says he needs some money. I ain't seen Merle in goin' on five years. He's been in and outta prison, and when he ain't in prison, he's nowhere to be found. He's into drugs, all that shit."

"Alright," Carol said with a nod. "So you were upset by his call?" Daryl narrowed his eyes at her.

"You a shrink, too?" Carol cocked her head to the side and smiled a little.

"I actually minored in psychology."

"Shit," he muttered. Carol couldn't help the smirk that curled at the corner of her mouth. "Alright, yeah, I was pissed off, and maybe that's why I drank a little more than usual. Tired of cleanin' up my brother's messes. Tired of bailin' him out. Tired of givin' him money I ain't got."

"So hearing from your brother after so long didn't get you thinking about your father and how he lived just across town?"

"Sure it did. But I ain't spoke to my old man since the day I left home."

"So why'd you go there that night?"

"I don't remember," Daryl pointed out. "I got to drinkin', and I remember bein' out on the road when they stopped me. Remember gettin' knocked out and wakin' up here. They said I had blood all over me. I don't remember nothin'."

"You don't remember going to your father's house at all?"

"No. I ain't got no reason to go."

"Not even unresolved issues stemming from abuse?" Daryl's gaze snapped up to meet hers. He watched her for a moment, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Then he cocked his head to the side.

"Lady, you ever go three days without a meal before? You ever go to bed so hungry you sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to go through the neighbor's trash, hopin' and prayin' your old man is passed out cold on the sofa with a bottle of whisky in his hand instead of waitin' to beat the snot outta you when you come back in? You ever had somebody slam your fingers in a fuckin' car door as punishment? Ever get smacked with an old oak cane that leaves welts so big you can't change in gym class for a week?" Carol felt her throat tighten and her stomach lurch, and her gaze faltered. Daryl leaned forward, gaze unyielding. "I'm glad the sumbitch is dead, lady. I don't remember killin' nobody, but if I did it, he fuckin' deserved it." He slammed his hand down on the table to make a point.

Carol held his gaze for a moment before she moved her hand to her neck, fingertips gently brushing over the bruises Ed had left her with. She quickly drew her hand away and looked back down at her notepad.

"It's not good, Mr. Dixon," Carol said quietly.

"Daryl. Just Daryl."

"Daryl," Carol said with a nod. "You were covered in blood. There were boot prints matching yours in the blood, trailing away from the house. There's a good chance your fingerprints are going to be all over that door and all over that body. And you can't remember anything?"

"I told ya I can't!" he growled. "You ever drank so much ya can't remember?"

"A time or two," Carol admitted. "And given your B.A.C. when they picked you up, you were three times over the legal limit. I'm not surprised you blacked out. In fact, it's a miracle you aren't in the hospital right now. To be honest…"

"You want honesty, Carol?" he asked, eyeing her as she stared across at him. "They can put me in jail, they can say I did it, but you know what? Whatever happens, at least I know the sumbitch ain't never gonna hurt nobody else again."


End file.
